The Last Battle
by Diane Langley
Summary: Sixteen years before the Boy Who Lived fought his final fight, there were others combating the Dark Lord, and they, too, fought a last battle... [Cowritten]


**Author's Note: **This fic takes place right after James and Lily Potter have gone into hiding, working off of the premise that many people were involved in the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, not just the core group discussed in canon.

**_Co-written by Diane Langley and Caleb Smith_**

* * *

Everyone knows about the calm before a storm, the quiet period where everything is quiet, but too quiet, and peaceful, but not quite right. This was the calm before the storm. 12 Grimmauld Place was silent, seemingly empty until the narrow, tiled kitchen. Squished at the small table that was wedged in the corner were two men, each holding a cup of tea absently. There was gravity and weight to the way they sat there; it was not the afternoon tea of quiet, carefree people. The seriousness of their lives had managed to poison even the simple act of drinking tea. 

The man who spoke first had a chiseled face, strong, with the kind of mouth that best catches attention when smiling, and bright, intelligent eyes. Even sitting down, it was evident that he had broad shoulders, a capable body, a man who had strength in more than just a wand.

"Hard to believe that James Potter has gone into hiding," Bennet Falcon placed his cup on the table. He rubbed a hand back and forth over the side of his head thoughtlessly, leaving the dirty blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. "I would have expected him to stay out in the open no matter what,"

"I'd say it was damn cowardly of him, if it weren't for Lily and the baby, but under the circumstances…" Falcon's companion shrugged one shoulder as if to suggest that he wouldn't have done it, but that James did indeed have a good excuse. He was wearing a heavy leather jacket, even though the temperature in the room was pleasant and warm already.

"You don't think much of it, though, Constine," Falcon said this, not as a question, but as a statement of blunt fact. Constine Greyback nodded simply, scratching the side of his neck.

"How can I? This is a war. It's not about comfort, Bennet. It's not about getting what we want. It's about getting it done. How can he get it done in hiding?"

"He can't," Falcon could think of no other way to put that. He better understood and even respected the choice than his friend. He would have done the same thing with a child on the way, not that he could quite conceive having a child on the way. The mental image was too out of place for his life right now.

"Exactly. To me, that's a problem. There'll be time for normal shit after You-Know-Who's met the green light at the end of the tunnel," Constine made a severe grimace, almost like baring his teeth, in obvious satisfaction at the thought of the Dark Lord being naught more than a memory. The expression was strangely barbaric.

Falcon didn't think twice about things like this; he had known Constine for years, since Sorting Day at Hogwarts. The man, even as a young Slytherin student, had always come off harsh, a little brusque, a little frightening. The two of them were very different. Falcon was easy to befriend, affable in most every way, and he often worked as ambassador for both of them. He rarely offended because he handled even differing opinions gracefully.

The matter of good versus evil was the only place where Constine and Falcon were equally immovable; evil must lose. The day they chose to side against Lord Voldemort in this great war was a day that marked the beginning of the lives they lived now. They breathed, ate, slept, lived, and would even die for their cause, for a free wizarding world for all people.

"He made Sirius Secret-Keeper, you know," Falcon drew back to the subject at hand.

"A good choice. He'd die for the Potters,"

"Most of us would," A new voice echoed off the walls, bigger than either that had spoken before. Falcon and Constine looked up to see the commanding figure of Arlando Ronan standing in the doorway. His voice, deep and resonant, never failed to fill a room, capturing every person's attention. They rose to their feet. Even with both of them over six-feet, standing slightly taller than Ronan, he seemed the bigger man.

He flicked his wand at the tea kettle, and a cup floated to his waiting hand. He moved over to sit down, easing himself into a chair without a sound. As so many members of the Order had done, Ronan had acquired the ability to be silent in nearly every action, and that spilled over into his day-to-day existence. It was, after all, part of what kept them him alive.

Often in "unofficial" organizations, like the Order of the Phoenix, leaders were self-appointed, just a person who spoke more often and more loudly than the others. This was not the case with Arlando Ronan; he didn't speak unless he had a reason, and though commanding and large, his voice was rarely loud. Yet, he had been chosen as a leader without a single reservation. He was the perfect man for the job. Smart, personable, and least likely to get you killed for no reason, Ronan was the kind of man they could put their trust in, and they did.

Falcon sat down next, but Constine remained on his feet, seeming to debate whether he wanted to remain. When the tell-tale click of heels suddenly sounded, approaching the kitchen, he was gone. Falcon's hazel eyes followed his retreating back. Almost a shame that he had rushed out, considering the entrance of Lilith Vix, nearly six-feet of willowy blonde beauty. She was seduction itself, from the slant of her denim blue eyes to the swing of her hips when she walked. She slid into the seat where Constine had been, smiling.

"Hello," she greeted Falcon. He opened his mouth to reply amiably, but she had already turned to Ronan. "And you…" She paused, and though Falcon couldn't see, he had no doubt that her tongue had slid over her lower lip. It was a habit of hers. Whether it was an absent habit or not, well, he didn't know about that. "forgot about lunch,"

Ronan shook his head. "I didn't forget. I was detained," As if this reminded him of something significant, he looked to Falcon. Falcon felt his muscles tense at the expression on his leader's face. "They're planning something. Something big."

Falcon swallowed hard. "Do we know?"

Ronan shook his head gravely. "Nothing. We're waiting for Val. Until then, we know nothing," His voice was utterly serious.

"Bloody hell,"

X

Dark didn't begin to describe the way the blackness wrapped around and through every room of the manor. Even with a candle beaming in the corner, the room still managed to look pitch-black, excepting that small circle of yellow light. Leaned against the wall, sighing a deep, frustrated sigh, Paladus Arcane looked at the man holding the light.

"It's not that simple. It is never that simple," he muttered as though talking to an extremely dense person. The subject of this berating tone was a burly man, wide, with thick arms and a wide, square jaw. He could have torn Paladus limb from limb had anything been a contest of sheer strength, but in the reality of things, he dared not draw a wand against the other man. With all factors considered, they were quite possibly equal, but Gunthen dared not test it.

"Sometimes it could be," The argument sounded weak, even to his ears, but he barreled on. "If we just hit hard and fast, without giving them time to think… it worked for Hitler with blitzkrieg,"

"Hitler was a fucking muggle," Paladus echoed disdainfully. He tapped his wand against his temple. He honestly didn't know about Gunthen. What kind of self-respecting wizard would touch a book written by a muggle? Yet, it seemed that Mein Kampf was never far from Gunthen's hands. Paladus felt a rise of temper but pushed it down. There was no point in arguing with someone like this. It was best to just tell him the correct thing to do and leave him no other options.

"He knew what he was talking about," Gunthen's jaw was set in a stubborn line.

"Why don't we just start listening to all muggles then? We can just invite them in, let them sit down and tell us what they think we should do… I'm sure we would do extremely well then," The sarcasm was cutting.

"It was just a comment," There was something almost petulant in his tone now, and Paladus nodded.

"A comment that the Dark Lord would have stricken you dead for,"

"You, I know, are not so unforgiving," Gunthen replied mockingly. He knew that they would never duel. The equality of them was too frightening.

"No," Paladus tried not to rise to the bait.

"Because you need me," The mocking tone didn't change. "Or you are nothing to the Dark Lord. It's only together that we are of any use to him."

"No." His voice grew suddenly hard. "Neither of us is anything to the Dark Lord. The minute you dare to think either of us is indispensable is the exact moment he will dispose of us,"

There was a flicker of fear in the man's voice that Gunthen didn't miss.

"Are you afraid that's going to happen soon?"

"He will be displeased tonight. We let too many live in our last encounter. He won't forgive that," Paladus shuddered involuntarily.

"No," Gunthen agreed. "He won't,"

A Grandfather clock chimed ominously from somewhere in the manor, signaling just how close to gathering time it was.

X

Validus Dunn had been working hard. It had been weeks since he had been home to see his wife and children, days since he had seen his comrades at headquarters. For every minute of this assignment, he had been desperately ready to get back to people, but now that he had completed it, now that he knew what he must tell them all, he was delaying his return with a little time away from it all, just a few minutes for himself.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked, kicking a rock along the ground in front of him like a child. He had to get out, and Apparating from the city to the quiet countryside was always nice. This stretch of path, surrounded by birch trees, was just outside of London, and from here, he could see the cityscape but still effectively feel apart from it. He had come here many, many times when he was younger, often bringing a girlfriend along. It was the place where he had proposed to his wife. He let that memory linger.

He listened to the silence and the thump-thump-thump of the rock hitting the dirt. It was easy, out here, to forget that Voldemort was growing stronger every day. It was easy to forget that he was seemingly unstoppable. How could you stop someone that you could never seem to find? Val shook his head. The thoughts were haunting him, and he wanted them gone. That was why he had come out here in the first place.

"Well, hello, Val, darling,"

The words came so suddenly and venomously that even solid, stoic Val jumped. He turned to see an oh-so-familiar woman perched in the limbs of a birch tree, laid lengthwise across a branch, a one knee bent and her lovely face turned towards him. She smiled, and he immediately drew his wand.

She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Tsk, tsk. So quick to pull that thing out," the woman chuckled. "As always, I remember," The innuendo was so obvious that Val took a step backward; even after all these years, he still saw something in Morgana Vix that was almost impossible to deny.

"You shouldn't be out here alone, Vix," he boomed, voice deep, trying false bravado on for size. His confidence sounded sincere, rather than feigned, so he stopped before he could reveal any nervousness he really had. He knew why she was here; she wanted the information he had, wanted to know it and then kill him so that the Order could never know it. That thought was nearly paralyzing. They needed to know.

"Nor should you, Dunn. And since when are we on a last name basis?" She purred, dropping to her feet and pushing her dark hair back over her shoulder. "We know each other quite…" She paused, rolling the next word around and wrapping it in sensuality, "intimately,"

"That was a long time ago," Val replied. Without thinking, his eyes looked her over once. She was gorgeous, and excepting the deadliness of the danger in her eyes right now, she looked just like the woman he had loved, the woman who had shared his bed and his heart for so many years, the last woman before his wife.

"Not so long ago that you don't remember," she laughed harshly. "And I hope it's the last thing you remember before you die," She raised her wand, still laughing, the sound breathless and husky.

"It won't be," There was hard confidence in his voice as he, too, raised his wand.

X

Before a meeting of their half of the Order of the Phoenix was called to order, Falcon always noticed the utter chaos inside the room. Constine would sit on his own, often shuffling through papers, or drinking a cup of tea, or some other absent activity that discouraged socialization. Ronan and Lilith sat together, talking quietly, usually with hands linked in what was supposed to be a hidden gesture. This time she had added a play to the game, running her hand through his short, brown hair. The largest group of men would stand together, talking, swapping stories, usually with Emmanuel Risi, one of the only non-English wizards in the Order, being heard over all of them. He was the only one who never took something too seriously for laughter, and he had a laugh that occasionally erupted in a fit of snorting, making other people laugh, too. Today was no exception. Risi had apparently just said something funny because everyone around him was chuckling.

Falcon, having just returned from the bathroom, moved over to join the group of men and nearly stepped on Meredith Latia. It was easy enough to do, considering she was under the table, butt and legs hanging out. He paused for her to emerge, holding her wand.

"Did you drop it?" He politely extended a hand to her as she looked up at him, brown eyes wide. She had a round face, big, innocent eyes, and a soft Cupid 's bow mouth. Not only was she nineteen, the youngest person here, but she looked even younger than that.

"Yes, I did," Her voice was frustratingly soft. As usual, particularly in a room full of talking people, it was all but impossible to hear her. "Manny bumped into me," she added, as if to clarify that it wasn't mere klutziness on her part, but Falcon had already moved on.

"You hear about James and Lily?" One man asked as Falcon stepped into the circle of men. "Quitting the damn fight?"

"They've got a kid," Risi reminded him. His Castilian accent was thick, that of a true Spaniard.

"Lots of people have kids, Risi. Val's got two kids, but you don't see him going into hiding. He's doing what a man does: protecting his family by keeping the world safe for them. Not sticking his sodding head in the sand," The man shot back a little loudly.

As if just hoping to dispel any argument, Ronan chose that moment to rise to his feet.

"Why don't we go ahead and get started? Please take a seat," He motioned to the chairs around the room, and Falcon walked over to take a seat next to Constine. He glanced over as Meredith sat down on the other side, folding her hands into her lap and looking intently at Ronan.

"We've got a lot to cover, assignments to give, and another day of waiting for Validus to get back with any information he can offer us," Ronan's strong voice was tight, and the tension was catching. Falcon watched Lilith twist a strand of blonde hair around and around a finger, watched Constine tap his wand on the table, saw Risi rubbing at the hair of his goatee. He wondered briefly if he had an absent habit to betray his tension. One look at Meredith caught her watching him. He followed her gaze to his own foot which was anxiously shaking his leg up and down, an absent habit all his own.

He turned back to Ronan.

"First, let's hear from Constine…" The man said, effectively cutting through the tension and returning their energies back to the cause, their reason for everything.

They had things to do.

X

The clearing in the woods was bright as day, lit with candles held by cloaked, masked men and women and by torches shoved into the soggy ground. Each person's face was tilted rapturously towards the man who stood before them. Paladus was dressed no differently than the people he led, excepting a mask. His face was free to show the full range of emotions. At the moment, a serious, displeased look twisted his handsome features. He cut a commanding figure, a man before followers, a man who feared no one and nothing except his master.

"Tonight," His voice came suddenly, cutting through the quiet night. "some among you will suffer for your mistakes. Tonight others among you will be rewarded for your successes," Even when he spoke of successes, there was no joy in his voice. His choice of words mimicked exactly what he feared would happen when he went before the Dark Lord again.

There were whispers flying through the air, Death Eaters desperately wondering which category they fell in. Every person in the clearing was frantically searching through their brain, picking apart their every action since the last gathering, trying to decide if they had managed a success or had only made mistakes.

"Silence!" He cried. The Death Eaters fell silent. His eyes scanned his followers as if mentally counting. Someone was missing. He raised his wand hand.

"Who has failed to arrive on time?" The quiet tone he used was just as horrible as any other, and the followers instinctively recoiled from him in fear, shuffling their feet backwards, moving as if a herd of sheep from a shepherd brandishing a staff. After a moment, he spoke again, "Who?"

The lack of answer seemed to go on for a very long time before a slight, short man named Artemis Bough opened his mouth, speaking through the mask, voice muffled but still high, nasally, "It's Morgana Vix,"

Instead of being appeased by the answer to his question, Paladus looked angrier, wand hand raised higher still, as if intending to kill the messenger. Then his face changed, and he lowered it a bit. The Death Eaters turned, following his gaze.

Morgana had entered the clearing, unmasked, wearing a torn black cloak. There was someone else's blood on her hands, and a smear of it across one cheek. She was smiling, walking straight through the people who seemed to part for her, except for Gunthen, who stood in her path, looking at her critically.

"Morgana--" He began like a question, but she reached up with a bloody hand and patted his cheek, leaving red there.

"Out of my way," she purred and simply pushed him aside. Paladus watched her approach, frowning. He took in her appearance, disheveled, messy, and her smile, a smile that showed clear lack of remorse in arriving late.

"You know the punishment for failing to be on time," A curse seemed ready to form on his lips.

"I have information," she said quietly, voice suspended between confidence and the slightest touch of fear.

He paused and lowered his wand, and with one inviting hand, he beckoned her closer. The watching followers drew in a sharp breath as she stepped to him, leaning close to him, speaking in a hushed, inaudible tone just at his ear.

When Morgana leaned back, finished, his mouth twisted into a sadistic smirk. She giggled, the sound husky and somehow cruel. Instead of stepping down from beside her leader, as protocol would suggest, she stood beside him, bodies close, leaned there, two people who knew something that everyone else was dying to hear. The smugness was written on their smirks as they looked out over the crowd.

Finally, Gunthen spoke what every person was thinking,

"What is it?"

X

"Are you saying this is a matter of trust?" Constine lifted one eyebrow. He was in his seat again, legs stretched out in front of him, an insolent expression on his thin face. The short, bright silver hair on his head was the result of a free spirit, not the luck of being a Metamorphagus, but it was equally striking either way, and even though he was sitting, not standing, most people's gazes were on him.

The person standing now was the same breathy blonde vixen whose presence had driven him from the kitchen earlier.

"Everything is a matter of trust. It's not you that I hold suspect. It's your methods," Lilith replied. "We haven't forgotten what happened last month,"

"It was kill or be killed," he stated this lazily, rather than defensively. Turning his gaze from Lilith to Ronan, he continued speaking, "I don't see what last month has to do with this. You agreed, at the time, that I did what had to be done,"

Ronan didn't argue. "I did," he confirmed. "But Lil does make a good point. You have been known to use… unnecessary force in some situations,"

"He's kept us alive many times, though," Meredith reminded them quietly. "He doesn't hesitate like we do," She hesitated now. It was rare for her to argue.

"That's because he's ruthless. The morality of his decisions doesn't matter to him," Lilith snapped at the younger woman, and Meredith closed her mouth, gaze dropping to the table. "It didn't matter in school when he was tormenting people with his brother, and it doesn't matter now,"

"Oh yes, Miss _Vix_. Let's talk about family connections," Constine echoed "If blood is thicker than water, then you and I both have to leave the Order, don't we?"

Her blue eyes widened. "That is different. I _never_ spent time with her. He was your best friend!"

"No. Bennet was my best friend," he corrected, looking to his left. Falcon nodded his head.

"Still am," he commented to no one in particular.

"You and Fenrir were still remarkably close…" Lilith was gaining momentum with her argument when Ronan closed his hand on her arm.

"Sit down, Lilith," he said. It wasn't his usual affectionate voice for her; it was the same voice he used on anyone causing a problem in his Order. She followed the command, but her hands were shaking, either from the heat of arguing or from indignation at being told to take a seat like a child.

"I'll think it over a bit more," Ronan informed them, finality in his tone. "But I am confident that Constine wouldn't use any methods that the rest of us would object to." He didn't sound as confident as his words boasted, but his voice left no room for people to question him. He was about to continue when the door to the room burst open.

Val stumbled in, left leg dragging slightly, worse than even a limp, a dead limb attached to a dying body. The front of his shirt was crimson, too red with blood for anyone to suspect that it was someone else's. Their eyes widened; a moment of shock kept anyone from moving. Meredith broke first, leaping to her feet, ready to start stanching the bleeding, but he raised a hand, motioning for Ronan.

The leader rushed over, and Val leaned against his shoulder, entirely supported as he whispered raggedly in Ronan's ear. Ronan's face drained of color.

"Are you sure?" The words rushed from his mouth, but Val didn't answer. Exhaling one last breath, he crumpled, and the weight of the large man was too much for Ronan. It didn't matter anyway. Validus Dunn was dead before he hit the floor.

A general cry rose from those in the room; the women hurried to his side, feeling for a pulse, while the men stood but did not know what to do with themselves, some moving closer, others hanging back. Ronan, pale, with the side of his body soaked in a friend's blood, looked as if he wouldn't be able to speak, but Falcon closed a hand hard on his shoulder. He asked, stricken by a general flood of emotion,

"Arlando, what is it?"

X

It was only a moment's pause before two leaders of two armies in two very different locations spoke. One voice was of glee, that of someone delivering great news to a waiting crowd. The other voice was of horror, ragged with pain and the shock of sudden bad news.

Two voices spoke together, from so very far apart, breathing out a single word like one,

"London,"

* * *

**Disclaimer: **We don't own Harry Potter.

**Author's Note II: **We're excited about this fic, these characters, the story we're going to tell... We would _love_ if you could get equally excited. Really tell us what you think when you review, and for god's sake, if you read it, review it. We love/crave/want/need the feedback. Thank you!


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